


The Spirit Will Come To You

by Brumeier



Series: Bite Sized Fic [126]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Guilt, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 07:00:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9061090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: LJ Comment Fic for Christmas Songs/Holiday Songs prompt: Any, Any, 

  There's a pale winter moon in the sky
  
  Coming through my window
  
  And the park is laid out like a bed below
  
  It's a cold dark night and my heart melts like the snow
  
  And the bells of New York City tell me not to go

(Bells of New York City by Josh Groban)
In which Bucky has to decide what to do with his life now, and he gets some help from people he knew in the past...Christmas Carol style.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aivix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aivix/gifts), [Taste_is_Sweet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/gifts).



> For Aivix, who left me the perfect prompt for an angsty Christmas Bucky story.
> 
> And for Taste_is_Sweet, for whom I write all my Bucky stories and particularly this one. Merry Christmas!!

_It's always this time of year that my thoughts undo me_  
 _With the ghosts of many lifetimes all about_  
(Josh Groban)

The room was barren, emptied of all furniture while it awaited new tenants, and the thermostat was set low. James didn’t bother turning it up, just stood by the window looking out at the city. 

It was a clear night, the moon ghostly and pale in the sky. Central Park stretched out below, snow lightly dusting the trees. Colored lights blinked in windows, coiled around railings and fire escapes. Standing above it all was Stark Tower, the neon letters red and green in accordance with the holiday.

James knew about Christmas. He knew about the trees and the nativity and the giving of gifts to family and friends, but only in a very factual way. There were some memories, but they were too disjointed and fragmented to make sense of. He dutifully wrote them all down in his notebook in the hopes that someday they’d mean something to him.

The sound of church bells could be faintly heard, and James wondered if he’d ever gone. Before. He didn’t think he’d be welcome now, not after everything he’d done.

James felt the presence in the room before he saw it, and he went on the defensive automatically, the gears in his metal arm faintly whirring. For a second or two there was nothing but a sense of anticipation, and then one shadow detached itself from the others and a figure stepped into the patch of moonlight by the window.

“Hey, buddy.”

James froze in place, eyes wide. He knew that man, recognized his face from the exhibit at the Smithsonian. James Buchanan Barnes, as he’d been before Hydra had gotten their hands on him. Confident. Self-assured. Able to look James in the eye without flinching.

“You’re not real.”

It was just another hallucination, another way for his own mind to betray him. Was this some latent programming that had shaken loose? A way to get him to seek out his handlers for help? He wouldn’t do it. Not again. Not ever.

“I’m as real as you,” the specter said. But that was a lie, because James could see right through him. He wavered and flickered like an image on an old television set.

“No.” James didn’t back down, but he wanted to. Wanted to press himself into the corner and shut his eyes and will the vision away.

“I’m still inside you, James. I always was, buried down deep where even Hydra couldn’t find me. And I wanna go home.”

“I don’t have a home anymore,” James said. He’d gone back to the old neighborhood, the one the history books told him he’d come from, and while it had sparked some vague memories it didn’t feel much like home.

“Yeah we do.” The specter moved towards the window. “He’s probably over there right now.”

James looked at Stark Tower. No need to ask who the specter was talking about because that was one thing he _did_ know.

“He’s not mine anymore. Never was.”

“For a smart guy you’re pretty dumb. But that’s okay. I got some friends, they’re gonna help you out.”

The specter started to fade, right before James’ eyes, and he felt an irrational well of panic building up inside him. He had so many questions, so many things he wanted to know, but he couldn’t find the words to ask.

“You’ll find me again, James. I know you will.”

Between one blink and the next the specter vanished completely. James turned back to the window and pressed his forehead to the cold glass.

He was losing what was left of his mind.

**Christmas Past**

“Bucky.”

James came awake instantly – he was a light sleeper at the best of times – but found himself caught up short before he could spring to his feet.

Standing by the window was another vision, no less unreal than the last despite the fact that it looked completely solid. James had seen that narrow face, that scrawny body, in his dreams and countless micro-bursts of memory.

“I know you,” he said, his voice sounding strangled to his own ears.

“You should. We grew up together. Best friends, remember?”

James nodded. _Till the end of the line_. He couldn’t say the words, but he’d replayed them countless times in his mind after hearing them on the helicarrier. They were fraught with meaning, and made his chest tight, but like with everything else he had no context for the words.

“Stevie,” he said. He wasn’t sure he had that right, until the kid in front of him broke out in a wide grin.

“Got it in one!” Stevie beckoned James over to the window. “C’mere, you big lug. I wanna show you something.”

James approached carefully, afraid that the kid would vanish when he got too close. And afraid that he wouldn’t.

“Remember how much fun Christmas used to be?”

James shook his head. He didn’t remember, but he wanted to. Was desperate for one memory that wasn’t of pain or death or crushing guilt.

Stevie gave him a sad smile, like he could read James’ mind. “Look here, then.” 

He put his hand on the window glass, which seemed to melt away at his touch. Gone was Central Park and Stark Tower, replaced by a homely but warm living room. The wallpaper was worn, the carpet threadbare, but there was a Christmas tree in the corner that was dripping with tinsel, and presents wrapped in what looked like newspaper that had Santas and reindeer drawn on them. 

James leaned forward, hands braced on the window frame, and took a deep breath. He could smell food cooking. Ham. Potatoes. Rich, savory smells. _Silent Night_ was playing, the song full of crackle and static.

A young kid appeared on the scene, all dressed up with his dark hair slicked back from his forehead. He started to reach for one of the presents.

“Jimmy! You stay away from that tree!”

“Aw, come on Ma! Just one? Please?”

“James Buchanan Barnes, what did I say?”

James looked at the little boy with wide eyes. That was him? And his mother, that was her voice. He tried to stick his head through the empty window – he wanted to see her – but there was resistance, as if the window glass had been replaced by something with more give that was just as impenetrable.

“You were twelve,” Stevie said. “You asked your folks for a telescope.”

“Doesn’t look like they can afford one,” James said, his voice hushed.

“No, they couldn’t. Do you remember what you got instead?”

James hesitated, then closed his eyes. There was something there, at the edge of his mind. A hazy, wispy bit of memory, about…

“Pinholes?” he asked, and looked at Stevie for confirmation.

The kid nodded. “My mom brought home cardboard from the hospital, that thin kind, and I poked holes in it.”

“Constellations,” James said. He could remember it, now. Sitting in his room with all the lights off while Stevie shone his flashlight behind the cardboard. A little universe all his own. They’d talked about traveling to space in a rocket, and fighting aliens.

That one memory unlocked more. Reading Stevie adventure stories when he was sick. The two of them splashing around an open fire hydrant during a heatwave. Drinking egg creams at Fleckman’s. Taking Becca to Coney Island. Playing stickball. Cleaning Stevie up after he got in a fight defending some girl’s honor.

“Jimmy.”

James turned back to the window, and there she was. His mother. Petite but sturdily built, wearing a blue dress covered by an apron. Her hair was dark like his, her eyes blue like his. She was beautiful.

“I wasn’t touching!” his younger self cried defensively. 

His mother – Why couldn’t he remember her name? – shook her head but looked amused. She had one hand behind her back, hiding a wooden spoon. She held it out. 

“I saved this for you.”

James didn’t know what was on the spoon, but it looked like it could be mashed potatoes. His younger self broke out in a wide grin, and gave his mom a big hug.

“You’re the best mom in Brooklyn!”

Stevie nodded in James’ peripheral vision. “She was a real nice lady.”

“What’s her name?”

“Winifred. Aunt Winnie to me.”

James watched her hug her son, nothing but open affection on her face. “She always smelled like lavender.”

“She kept a sachet in her pocket,” Stevie said.

“I remember.”

James rested his head against the window frame and closed his eyes. He could almost feel his mother’s arms around him. When he opened his eyes the window glass was back, showing James his own reflection. His cheeks were wet.

Stevie was gone, too. But James remembered him. He remembered a lot of things now.

“Till the end of the line,” he whispered.

**Christmas Present**

James was awake when the second solid specter arrived, too keyed up to try and get back to sleep. It was a woman, middle-aged and plump, and there was no instant recognition as there had been with Stevie. He held himself back, watched warily as she approached. She seemed sad.

“Bucky? Look at you. So handsome.” She reached out hesitantly and laid her hand on his metal arm. “You’ve been through so much, you poor thing.”

James took a closer look at her, something in her voice vaguely familiar. How did he know her?

“You don’t remember me, do you? Well, you always were a buster.”

“Becca,” James said, surprising himself. His little sister. He didn’t recognize her because she’d been so young the last time he saw her, when he shipped out and went to war.

Becca beamed. “I know I look different. Having kids is murder on the figure, let me tell you.” She patted her midsection.

“You had kids?”

“Of course I did. What, you think I stopped living after you went away? I had to do it for the both of us.” That sad look again. “I named my first-born son after you.”

James had a lump in his throat. He covered his sister’s hand with his own. He’d missed almost her whole life, and there was no way to get it back. No way to be a proper uncle to her children. And after everything he’d done…well, who’d want him now? He’d only bring shame to the family name if anyone found out who he was.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Becca said. “And you’re wrong. What happened to you was terrible, worse than anything I could ever imagine. But you couldn’t have stopped it, sweetheart. You couldn’t.”

James pulled away, pulled back. He didn’t deserve her kind words. She didn’t know. Becca put her hands on her hips, and he had a sudden flash of her as a gangly teenage girl in the same pose, yelling at him because he’d gotten into a fight with a boy she liked after the kid made some less-than-flattering comments about her virtue.

“You listen to me, James Buchanan Barnes. You were a good kid, and a good man. You didn’t deserve what happened to you, but now you get to decide. The only one who can give you a better life is _you_.” Becca gestured at the window. “Look. See what you could be part of, if you give it a chance.”

Like before, the glass melted away. This time the scene was a modern-looking dining room. There were eight people around the table, and some kids at a smaller table in the corner. Everyone was talking and laughing, and eating an overabundance of food.

“Who are they?”

“So impatient,” Becca said. “Just watch. And listen.”

The woman at the head of the table stood up, holding her wine glass aloft. She could’ve been in her fifties or sixties, it was hard to tell. “Thank you all for coming and sharing this holiday dinner with us. And to Aunt Caro for not making the sweet potato surprise again this year.”

That prompted a round of laughter. 

“As most of you know, it’s traditional in my family to make a toast on Christmas to my Uncle Bucky.” The woman gestured, and James realized there was a picture of him hanging on the wall, wearing his Army uniform. “He was my mother’s only brother, lost too young during World War Two.”

“Uncle Bucky was brave!” one of the kids shouted.

“And handsome!” cried another.

The woman giving the speech grinned, and in that smile James could see a shadow of his sister. “That’s right. He was a good brother and a good friend, and a little too good at poker. Let’s raise our glasses to James Buchanan Barnes. Gone from our lives, but not from our hearts.”

Everyone raised their glasses and James had to turn away. He flinched when Becca’s hand squeezed his shoulder, but she didn’t let go.

“You have family. My children, and their children, and their children’s children.” 

James shook his head. He couldn’t. After everything he did…and then the people at the dinner table started talking and he turned back to listen.

“Have you read the Avengers blog?”

“Who hasn’t? I can’t get enough of Captain America.” 

The women at the table tittered, while the men just rolled their eyes.

“Do you believe what they say?” Becca’s daughter asked. “About how he’s single-handedly taking down some kind of shadowy spy organization?”

“Propaganda,” one of the men said dismissively. 

“No it isn’t, Uncle Paul” a young guy interjected. “I read a book about it. They were a Nazi offshoot, brainwashed a lot of people and turned them on their own governments. It’s pretty dark stuff.”

“Those poor people,” Becca’s daughter said. “I can’t imagine what that would be like, having their identities taken away from them like that.”

“And what do you know about brainwashing?” Paul asked. “Really, Susan, you need to stop romanticizing these things.”

“I’m not romanticizing anything. I’ve done a fair amount of research on the topic.”

“For fan fiction,” Paul said disdainfully. James wasn’t sure how the man was related to Susan, but he wanted to punch him in the face.

“The reason doesn’t matter,” Susan replied mildly. “The fact is, this kind of brainwashing is a part of history, and not just for the Nazis. Did you know there’s an organization that’s sole purpose is to rehabilitate victims of brainwashing? By cults, and so-called shadowy spy organizations. It’s not easy for those people to get their lives back.”

“That’s my girl,” Becca said. “She has a good heart. Just like you. She’s started donating money to that organization she mentioned, Phoenix Spring. You might want to look them up yourself.”

“You think she’d welcome me back,” James said, because surely that was the point of being privy to Susan’s conversation. “Despite everything.”

“Yes, I do. And she’s not the only one.”

The dining room abruptly darkened, the voices cut off, and then a new room was illuminated. A large living space with several comfortable-looking couches and chairs, a large-screen TV mounted on the wall, and a fancy bar. It was decorated for the holidays with an oversized tree, complete with a train running around the base of it, garland draped on the walls and the front of the bar, and a collection of Santas that covered every flat surface.

The lights were dim, but James could make out the figure that stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the city. 

“Stevie,” James whispered.

“He hasn’t forgotten you either,” Becca said. “He’s been looking for you ever since you pulled him out of the river.”

Stevie had saved him from Hydra the first time, but hadn’t been able to save him on the train. James may have forgotten a lot, but he knew that Stevie would take that as a personal failure. Had he been blaming himself? Is that why he’d crashed that plane into the ice instead of saving himself? Did that explain why he let James beat him almost to death on the helicarrier?

Another man came into the room, and James recognized him. He’d been working with Stevie, flying through the air like a bird with some sort of fancy rig strapped to his back. He stood next to Stevie at the window, close but not touching; James eyed the slim distance between them with narrowed eyes.

“You’re missing a pretty good dinner,” the flying man said. “Did you know Clint could cook? That man is an enigma wrapped in bacon.”

Stevie huffed out a laugh. “I’ll be in. I’m just…wondering where he is right now. Does he know it’s Christmas?”

“No offense to your boy, but I’m not sure he knows his own name.”

“But he knew _me_ , Sam.”

“Maybe. Or maybe not. You can’t read too much into that, man.”

Stevie nodded, his shoulders slumping. “We used to have great Christmases. Bucky got a whole crate of oranges one year, wouldn’t say where it came from. Aunt Winnie made orange sponge cake and marmalade, and my mom made orange pudding. No danger of scurvy _that_ year.”

Once he said that, James remembered. He’d told his parents he’d earned some money, enough to buy the oranges, but the truth was he won them in a poker game. It had been such a treat, eating fresh fruit instead of the mushy stuff that came in a can. He remembered sitting with Becca and Stevie, putting orange peels over their teeth and cracking each other up with their silly smiles.

“I love him you know,” Stevie said. His voice sounded so small, like he was still that skinny kid instead of the grown, strong man he’d become.

“I know,” Sam replied kindly. “Anyone who spends more than five minutes talking to you knows.”

“Wish he did.”

Becca took hold of James’ hand and curled their fingers together. “Do you know? Do you remember?”

James nodded, his cheeks hot. He’d loved Stevie too, but back then…well, it would’ve been hard for them. He knew it was different now, that two men could love each other publically, but James didn’t know how to process the well of emotions that filled him whenever he thought of Stevie. Emotions in general hadn’t been something he’d been allowed to experience for a very long time and they were overwhelming.

Stevie was love and admiration and respect mixed with fear and guilt. So much guilt.

“You two are stronger together,” Becca said. “Always have been. Mama used to say it was your strength of will alone that kept Stevie alive all those years, sick as he was. He still needs you, Bucky.”

“It’s been too long,” James said. Becca gave him a look that clearly expressed her disbelief. James wasn’t sure he believed it himself.

On the other side of the window Sam clapped Stevie on the shoulder. “Come on, Steve. Before Thor eats everything that’s not nailed down.”

James watched them walk out of the room together, and could just make out the chatter from elsewhere in the Tower where the other Avengers were gathered for their holiday meal. He had no desire to be part of a big crowd, but to be with Stevie again…he wanted that more than he could say. So much he ached with it sometimes. Stevie was the only thing that still made sense in the world.

The window went dark, and Becca gave James’ hand a squeeze.

“You deserve a chance at redemption, at happiness. If you don’t try you’ll never be whole again.”

Becca was starting to waver, becoming less solid, and James pulled her into a fierce hug. “Don’t go.”

“I have to,” Becca murmured in his ear. “But I’m so proud of you, big brother. For breaking free of Hydra, for saving Steve’s life. For still having that big heart that I remember so well.”

James wanted to tell her he loved her but the words caught in his throat, choking him.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.”

Becca kissed him on the cheek and then she was gone.

**Christmas Future**

The moon moved across the sky and James tracked it, anything to distract himself from all the new-found knowledge crowding his brain. For the longest time he’d lived in a void, no past, no present but what was programmed into him. And now…maybe he knew too much, because he was _feeling_ too much.

James could remember how it felt to have a family, to be loved, to dream of a future where anything was possible. He’d lost all of it, and now he knew how that felt, too: like little pieces of his soul had been systematically ripped away, leaving jagged tears and gaping holes that could never be filled.

Becca said he had to decide, that his future was his choice. He knew what he wanted, he just wasn’t sure he could have it.

A figure appeared in front of the window, blotting out the light. James was instantly on his feet, his first instinct still to fight, to defend. But then he saw his adversary and it was like all the air left his lungs and he had to fight to breathe.

“Not you.”

The Asset stood there like a hulking beast, eyes smudged and face guard in place. He was just as still as James, just as silent, and James was suddenly filled with rage. He threw himself at the Asset.

“Why didn’t you stop them?” he shouted. “Why didn’t you save yourself?”

The Asset was unmoved, and nothing James did could shake him. No punch, no kick, no attempt to knock him off his feet was successful. The Asset didn’t fight back. Had never fought back, just did as he was told while his parents grew old and died, while his sister had a family, while Stevie stayed frozen in the ice.

Eventually James backed off, chest heaving. It was futile, fighting what he was. What he’d been. But he wasn’t the Asset anymore. He’d made a decision, defied his mission and saved Stevie’s life. He’d thrown the face guard away, refusing to be muzzled, to be controlled, to be compliant. 

He just didn’t know who to be now.

“You’re here to show my future,” James said. “Aren’t you?”

It was the only logical thing. Stevie had given him his past, and Becca showed him that he wasn’t forgotten in the present. It was familiar somehow, three visitations showing what was, what is, and what could be.

The Asset turned and placed his metal hand on the window. The glass melted away beneath it, revealing a workroom full of metal parts and components. Stevie was there and James leaned forward instinctively, wanting to get closer.

Stevie was running his hand over Captain America’s shield, which lay on top of one of the tables. He looked too stiff, as if he were trying not to fall down.

“So you’re just gonna leave?”

Tony Stark leaned in the doorway, looking more relaxed than his tone of voice suggested he was. Stevie didn’t turn to look at him.

“I can’t do it anymore.”

“Look, I get that you’re heartbroken, but you’re not a teenager anymore. This isn’t the end of your life, so stop being a drama king already.”

“This isn’t just about Bucky,” Stevie said. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“You’re the same guy we thawed out of the ice, Link.” Tony had something in his hands that he fiddled with while he talked. 

“No I’m _not_!” Stevie slapped his hand on the table, and it sounded like a thunderclap. James and Tony both flinched. “Everyone I ever knew is dead. My home is gone, my family. Everything I ever wanted for myself.”

“I thought we were your family,” Tony said softly.

“You’ve been real good to me, and I appreciate everything you’ve done. You and the others. But I don’t belong here. Don’t you understand? I don’t belong anywhere. I’m out of my time.”

“You’ve been doing good work with the Avengers. You’ve helped a lot of people, and that’s without knowing how to use all the new-fangled technology. People need you.”

Stevie shook his head. “They need Captain America. And I can’t be him anymore.”

“Is this about Trump? Because I can make a few phone calls and work something out there.” Tony grinned, but it quickly faded when it wasn’t returned. “Don’t make me beg. Not even Pepper does that, and she deserves it more than you.”

Stevie turned to leave. “I’ll see you around.”

“What happened to him wasn’t your fault.”

“Which time?” Stevie asked bitterly. “You don’t even know how many times he saved me, from when were kids growing up together. I wouldn’t be here without Bucky, but when he really needed me I wasn’t there for him. I wasn’t strong enough.”

James clutched at the window frame, the wood creaking under his metal hand. Of course Stevie would shoulder guilt that wasn’t his; some things never changed. He couldn’t have saved James from Hydra, or from falling off the train. Not even from himself. He’d tried. So hard. Had been willing to die rather than fight James just based on decades old loyalties.

Stark was right. The world needed Captain America, now more than ever. But Stevie walked away from his shield, walked away from the Avengers, and left Tony staring mournfully after him.

“You think he needs me,” James said to the Asset. The Asset stared back at him without emotion.

Stevie needed to know he wasn’t responsible for anything that had happened. He obviously didn’t believe the words when they came from his friends, but maybe if James could tell him it would sink in. Maybe Stevie wouldn’t feel so out of place if James was there too, someone who knew the old stories and remembered Stevie before he’d taken the super soldier serum and became a national symbol.

The scene went dark.

“It’s not so easy, you know. Going to him.” James was pretty sure it would be a disaster. The Winter Soldier would have to be held accountable for his crimes, even though they’d been carried out at Hydra’s command. His true identity would come to light, and regardless of what Becca said it would cast shadows on the family name.

The Asset gestured to the window, where another scene was playing out.

This time it was an empty warehouse. James saw himself standing in the center of the room, shackled and chained, his face cut and bleeding. There were three armed men surrounding him, and one man standing in front of him. He didn’t recognize any of them, but the red book in the man’s hands was chillingly familiar. 

“No,” James whispered.

“It took us a long time to find you,” the man said. His English was impeccable, but James could hear the faintest hint of Russian behind the words. “Your friend Captain America made things…difficult for us. But he’s hung up his cape, and now you must get back to work.”

“No,” the other James spat out. “I won’t do that anymore.”

“Yes,” the man said. “Yes, you will.”

He opened up the book and started to read, and James could only watch in horror as his other self was broken down by a handful of seemingly random words. Watched as his other self fought the programming, screaming his pain and rage, but was eventually unmade by it.

And he remembered that too. Knew the pain in his head, and the pain in his heart. The fear of what he’d be made to do before the final word wiped his mind clean of everything but obedience. 

“Soldier.”

“Ready to comply.”

“A test. To be sure.” The man with the red book waved his hand, and two more henchmen came in dragging a third person between them. Their captive had a hood thrown over their head. “I’m going to release you. And you are going to show me how compliant you are.”

The other James just stood there, no sign of humanity in his eyes at all. The man gestured again and James was released from the shackles.

“Your mission. Kill this woman.”

The hood was removed and James tried to leap through the window, to stop what was about to happen, but once again he was met with resistance.

The woman beneath the hood was Susan. Becca’s daughter. His niece.

She squinted at the sudden change of light, and she was very clearly terrified. And then she took a closer look at the man in front of her.

“Uncle Bucky?” she whispered. “Oh my God.”

James couldn’t help it. He turned away. Turned his back and closed his eyes. He wished he could shut out Susan’s pleas, the way she begged for her life and cursed the men who had turned her uncle against her. The sound of her neck getting snapped was like a gunshot, piercing James through the chest.

“Mission completed,” the other James said in his monotone voice.

“No. No! I can’t –” James hid his face in his hands. He’d walked away from Hydra, but he’d never really be free of them. How was Stevie supposed to save him from something buried so deep inside his own head?

The Asset clamped a hand on James’ shoulder and spun him back around. James knocked his hand away.

“I don’t want to see any more!”

“Options,” the Asset said, his voice muffled by the face guard.

James stared at him. “What?”

The Asset pointed at the window. James didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to see what fresh new horror was waiting there. But if there was another option for him then he owed it to himself to see what it was.

A bunker, deep underground. James recognized it as a Hydra facility, though he wasn’t certain he’d ever been there. His other self was standing next to Stevie, dressed for battle, and Stevie had his shield strapped to his back. The other Avengers were there as well, seemingly at ease but James could tell they were poised to fight if necessary.

“I’ve got it!” Tony called. He stepped out of a side room and held the red book aloft. James’ other self flinched and backed up a step, but Stevie put out his hand and grabbed hold of James’ wrist.

“It’s okay, Bucky. You’re safe with me, remember?”

“But he’s not,” James said, willing Stevie to hear him through the window. “He’s not safe from that book, or what it’ll make him do.”

“Now we can see about fixing what’s in your head, Sybil,” Tony said to the other James. “There has to be something in here we can use.”

“And then we’ll destroy it,” Stevie promised. “No-one will be able to use that against you. Never again.”

“Come on, Brokeback. Let’s get home and figure this out.”

Tony led the way out of the bunker and the others followed. They joked around with the other James, and no-one seemed to pay any mind when Stevie kissed him. It was like he belonged there, like they’d accepted him.

Options.

_You two are stronger together._

James turned to the Asset but the specter was already gone, his message imparted. The window once more showed only the park and the city lights, and the setting moon.

He knew what he wanted. He just needed to see if he could really have it.

*o*o*o*

A light snow was falling, big white flakes that clung to the brim of James’ hat and his boots. He stood out front of Stark Tower, the only one out and about at that time of night. Or early morning, to be precise. He wasn’t ready to go inside, but he’d spotted all of the security cameras and knew he’d been seen. It was only a matter of time before someone came down.

He hoped it was Stevie. James wasn’t sure he could adequately explain himself to any of the others, presuming they’d be willing to listen to him in the first place. They only knew him as the Winter Soldier.

When the glass door opened and Stevie came out, dressed for the weather in a puffy coat and a knit cap, James almost changed his mind and bolted. He saw the flying man, Sam, on the other side of the glass, and nodded his approval of Stevie having someone to watch his back.

“Bucky?” Stevie’s long eyelashes caught the snow, and James found it hard to catch his breath. “Are you…why are you here? I mean, I’ve been looking for you.”

He sounded wary, held himself the same. Smart, since he didn’t know what to expect from James. Funny, since James didn’t know what to expect from himself. How did he explain the experience he’d had, the visitations, without sounding like he’d lost what was left of his mind?

“Buck?”

“You made me constellations,” James blurted out. “With cardboard. Because my parents couldn’t afford a telescope.”

Stevie’s whole demeanor changed, his expression softening and turning hopeful. “You remember?”

“A lot of things. Christmas things. Becca and my parents. You. That crate of oranges.”

“I think our moms invented some new desserts that year,” Stevie said with a tentative smile. “Those are good memories.”

The wind picked up, sending swirls of snow down the sidewalk, and James pulled up his shoulders against the chill. He was sick to death of the cold, of feeling numb to everything around him.

“I miss you,” he said. The biting wind made his eyes sting.

“Come inside,” Stevie said, holding out his hand. He had artist hands, his fingers long and dexterous. It’s part of what made him so good at wielding the shield. James wondered if he really understood everything he was offering. _Options_. “We don’t have to see anyone. It’ll just be the two of us. I promise.”

Stevie stood there in the blowing snow, his arm outstretched and not a hint of censure in his eyes, and James made his choice. Good or bad, whatever happened it would be because he chose to put his faith in Stevie, in their history together, in a future that wasn’t set in stone.

James reached out and clasped Stevie’s hand in his, fingers curling to tightly grip. Stevie squeezed right back, and it felt a whole lot like coming home.

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN:** Title is from the song _Magic of Christmas Day_ by Céline Dion. And yes, I continue to fail at the concept of 'bite sized'. LOL!


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